To Be With You
by Kipsels
Summary: Draco's dealt with a lot of difficult things since the end of the war, including losing his inheritance and going through his Veela maturity. Finding out Hermione Granger was his mate however, that had to top the list.
1. Chapter 1

Draco watched the knife swirl melting butter onto a bright yellow scone. It was Wednesday afternoon, and like every Wednesday afternoon in recent history he spent it at one of the classy cafés in Diagon Alley with Pansy, watching her eat pumpkin scones and listening to her talk about the newest gossip amongst the society people of the wizarding world.

Their table had been set lavishly with scones and millefeuille, and a pot of tea that had been handpicked in Nepal. All of this, of course, was for Pansy. Draco had picked the cheapest thing on the menu - a ham and cheese sandwich that was made to sound like a delicacy.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Pansy's company (she was, after all, one of his closest friends) but sometimes he felt that she forgot that while she played the well-to-do role of a high society wife, he worked for a living.

"Have you heard that Astoria Greengrass is engaged?" she enquired as he picked at the 'gourmet' sandwich he could hardly afford. When he shook his head she continued, "Funny, I would have thought they would have invited you to the engagement party. You were quite close at one point."

"We dated for a week before her parents put a stop to it. We were hardly close," Draco said.

Pansy rolled her eyes at him, "You know what I mean. You might be as poor as a church mouse now but you're still a prominent family. It's more than just a slight to not invite you or your mother."

Draco was quite used to slights.

Being a Malfoy after the war was a tough lot in England. After returning to Hogwarts to finish his schooling and serve his probation, Draco found employment opportunities to be sparse. The wizarding economy was in a downturn, and half the businesses that had been running for centuries were crushed under the threat of Voldemort. Unemployment was naturally high as the community tried to regain its feet, but rates were even higher if anyone had even an inkling that you might have had connections to the Dark Lord. Draco spent the better part of two years systematically copying out his grades and references for jobs that never responded back. The Ministry wanted nothing but his inheritance, finance companies didn't want the reputation that followed him like a black shadow. Retail feared that his distinctive features would scare away the customers.

When he applied to Flourish and Blotts on a dying whim and actually received a response, Draco wondered if there really was some kind of higher power watching over him.

Draco counted his luck on the fact that Mrs Villadsen, the new owner of the bookstore, had hailed from Denmark and seemed complacent in the face of widespread social divisions. He'd heard they were pretty open to just about everything in Scandinavia, but he never expected her to not give two knuts about hiring a convicted criminal. When he'd voiced his concerns, she'd looked at him like _he_ the crazy one, and asked if he'd like her to find another fit young man to take the job instead. He'd shut his yap after that, though he was quick to find out just why a 'fit young man' was needed. Working there wasn't easy. He wasn't used to manual labour, and Mrs Villadsen was adamant that careless magic could potentially damage the texts. Draco wondered if the woman had even gone to school, seeing as she'd probably have had a heart attack seeing books flung through the air with magic.

Customers had treated him with an expected level of disdain. He was used to the words spat in his face, the not so gentle shoves when someone brushed past him. Draco hated it when a particularly scathing customer would purposely knock over a pile of newly shipped books, but that was less to do with him having to pick them up again and more with having to explain any damage caused to the stock.

There had been one incident where someone on the upper level had dropped a heavy tome over the bannister and directly over his head. It had knocked him out and left him with a serious concussion, but the act of aggression was labelled as an accident. If there was any good to come of it, at least Mrs Villadsen began to believe him when he retold the incidences.

Three years on and the world began to forget. Draco was no longer just the backroom stacker and now worked behind the counter. When Mrs Villadsen had discovered his knack with numbers, he was also given control over the accounts.

None of this meant much to Pansy though. In her mind they were both still on the same level as they always had been, and that was why they had stayed fast friends when most of their cohort had turned their noses up at him. Though he appreciated it greatly most days, he always felt apprehensive about letting her choose the restaurant because he knew he'd be spending his entire day's pay check on a single meal.

"I think you should turn up anyway. Everyone loves a little bit of scandal," Pansy said.

Draco scoffed at the idea, "I think they're more likely to see it as a family tragedy if I did. Besides, I can't afford new dress robes."

Pansy gave him a look that told him all that he needed to know. While he had been burned in the war, Pansy came out of it with a wealthy foreign husband with more galleons than she could ever spend. New dress robes would be but a small gift.

Draco looked away, his pride getting the better of him. There was a marked pause as Pansy waited for a response, and when none came she went back to her scone with a huff.

The silence lasted seconds before Pansy dropped her knife with a clatter.

"Ugh! What's wrong with your _arm_?" Pansy squawked, and only then did he realise he'd been scratching at his skin in his distraction. Her hands flew to her chest and she leaned back as though he was covered in contagious germs.

With the amount he'd been itching, he probably was.

"It's nothing Pans, just a rash from book mites," He said.

"Are you sure, looks more like the beginning of dragon pox to me," Pansy said, unconvinced.

The irritated skin of his forearms were covered by a sore looking rash, just visible underneath the cuff of his shirt though he knew it had spread right up to his elbows. The mere sight had Pansy repulsed, a fact that he was glad for. Had she been medically inclined or, Merlin forbid, maternal, she might have been tempted to inspect further, and that would have led to opening up a whole can of worms. The rash, ugly as it was, helped to disguise the fine bumps pimpling beneath the skin, the very beginnings of the undeveloped spines of downy grey feathers. He deprecatingly referred to it as his ugly baby bird stage.

Going through Veela maturity was much like taking puberty for a second spin. Just as puberty could sneak up on a boy anywhere from ten to sixteen, going through the maturity could occur from sixteen or be as late as one's mid-thirties. It happened when it happened, but at least the process crawled up at a noticeable pace and allowed for certain affairs to be set straight before the change. His father had been an early bloomer, his final year at Hogwarts disrupted by the maturity, and it had been expected that Draco would be much the same. As it was, the stress of his sixth year and the ensuing war had left him in poor health from malnutrition and had stunted his progression. Now at 23, his Veela genetics had finally popped up to say hello.

While he didn't have to deal with squeaks in his voice or the awkwardness of managing a body halfway to manhood, his hormones _were_ off the scales. Just last weekend he'd been enjoying morning tea with his mother in the sun room when he'd unexpectedly burst into tears at the beauty of the new season's blooms. His mother had patted his hand consolingly, but it did nothing to stop him from feeling thoroughly emasculated.

On the other end of the spectrum, he had come to accept waking in a feverish state with the dregs of his imaginative but mildly embarrassing erotic dreams still swimming in his head. That wasn't all that different from being fifteen again, except now he was far more accomplished in _handling_ it. He also had to deal with uncalled for bouts of aggression, and finding himself oddly possessive over the most mundane commodities. Other than that, the poor sleep and cold showers made him surlier than usual, but nobody commented on it because Draco Malfoy _was_ Draco Malfoy.

Beyond all that, the worst part was how much his back _hurt!_ Growing new bones was tough, but growing extra limbs was unbearable. It had been aching for weeks now, but the purpling bruises that had sprouted in parallel lines to his spine this morning were new. Just looking at it nearly had him crying again.

Soon enough he'd be keyed into pheromones and Merlin knows what else in an attempt to find his mate. Just the idea sounded incredibly smelly and nauseating, and he really just wanted it to be over already.

All of this, of course, was a well-kept family secret, and not one he was about to divulge to Pansy. Not in a public place, anyway (he knew how loud she could get when excited). So he tucked his arms back under the table to avoid further scrutiny.

"Don't worry about it. If it gets worse then I'll go to a healer, I promise," He said.

Pansy shook her head, "No, I think you should go see a healer right now!"

Draco could already see it. Pansy would not let this go until he was treated. So Draco took his escape.

"Look, I have to get back to work. I'll see you next week."

Draco, with a little bit of the cowardice he was known for, made a bee-line for the exit, ignoring the sound of Pansy calling out to him. He walked right down Diagon Alley to the bookshop without pausing or looking back. It was only when he entered the store and the bell rang to announce his entrance did he realise he never finished his sandwich.

Damn.

Resigned to an empty and growling stomach until he got home after the shop closed tonight, Draco pulled out the ledger from under the desk. Perhaps he could distract himself by cross-checking the stock on hand with sales to make sure nothing had been stolen. It was utterly boring, but rather time consuming.

A niggling in the back of his head told him to look out the window.

Hermione Granger passed by the shop front like a haughty, sentient fur ball. Her hair was literally all over the place, sparking with electricity and magic. Her complexion was no better, flushed and blotchy from her brisk walk through the summer heat. Draco wondered if she looked much the same after sex, and whether her hair would be fun to pull or if his fingers would just get snagged in its magnificent volume-

Wait, what?

Oh. Oooh. That… that actually wasn't as much of a surprise as he might have expected.

Well, shit.

* * *

It's been a very long time since I've written fanfiction (or anything at all for that matter). But I hope you can join me in this adventure into the unknown for this lighthearted take on the Veela trope!


	2. Chapter 2

Draco stared up at the canopy of his bed, utterly unsure how to proceed. He'd spent all night thinking about the many ways this could all end up horribly, for him _or_ for Granger. There was only one thing he knew for certain though, that from the moment she walked past Flourish and Blotts that day - she was the one. He wasn't exactly sure how he knew, but he did.

There weren't many detailed accounts on Veela maturity available. Mates were picked via an unconscious process that began to take place well before even the most mature children began to see others with potential romantic interest, and it was believed to involve a combination of scent, physical appeal and compatibility of magical cores (and in the situation where two Veela began courting, a rare case these days, an ongoing display of feathers and interpretive dance). Certainly, some Veela never mated, but it wasn't the most comfortable thing to do and remaining abstinent for the rest of one's life sounded like a fate worse than death as far as Draco was concerned.

There were many other magical mysteries involving Veela that even Draco would never understand. Even his Father seemed to have little information, as he recalled how Lucius used to turn his head away at questions and sniff as he said, "That's just how it is son, it doesn't matter how it works."

Lucius. He was going to have to tell his parents sooner or later. Merlin knows they had both been waiting eagerly for him to announce his choice. His 'intended'.

Draco heaved a gusty sigh and urged his body to move.

It didn't.

Maybe he could just stay here forever. He wouldn't have to work ever again, and he'd never have to confront Hermione Granger about this pesky bit of biology that will haunt him and her forevermore. It sounded rather nice, except for the way his heart began to throb at the very idea of not seeing Hermione's atomic hair ever again. No, that just wouldn't do. If he was going to die alone, he was going to do it knowing what her hair felt like first.

With his new found resolution, Draco heaved his body up with an exaggerated groan.

Walking down the halls in search of his Mother, Draco thought the Manor felt like a home of contradictions now. Draco no longer had any money to his name, yet his home was filled with grand opulence as though nothing had ever changed. There wasn't much of a market for antique divans that may or may not have the imprint of a certain Dark Lord's bottom in the cushions. So, while the ministry took the money, they left everything else.

Nothing felt the same as before the war though, and Draco suspected that it never would.

Draco entered the blue sitting room, where Narcissa was currently enchanting needles to work independently on a new tapestry. His mother had never been the kind of woman who knitted woolly jumpers with initials on them, and she'd never find herself in a situation where she'd need to cook a hearty meal by herself, but like any girl that was born for the role of a lady, she kept herself occupied. She'd shown her love in a different way, by encouraging him to help her tend the garden, or letting him messily weave a few lines in her tapestries even though she knew he'd ruin the section.

He loved his father and he _knew_ that Lucius put his family above all else, however misguided he was sometimes, but it had always been his mother that he spoke to freely. Lucius taught him that a Malfoy never cried, but Narcissa showed him that hiding his emotions would only hurt him in the end. After the war Draco found it increasingly difficult to reconnect with his father. Their relationship struggled to get past the mental barriers Lucius had constructed around himself, and Draco's inability to forgive him. Narcissa was aware of this, and he knew that she despaired over it quite a bit, but his mother had always been his confidant and knew why he couldn't make that final leap. She never pushed him for more.

"If I didn't know you as well as I do, I would think you might have a keen interest in tapestry," Narcissa spoke absently, "Come sit and tell me what's on your mind, Draco."

"I'm fine," Draco said dismissively, but still moved further into the room and sat on the offered chair.

Narcissa glanced his way, "Fool your Father as much as you like, but you can't fool me. You haven't spoken more than 5 words since you got home from work yesterday."

He took a few deep breaths to try and calm his nerves before he started.

"Something happened," He started, still trying to remember what he had recited in his head on his way down.

"Yesterday, while I was at work… I-I think I found my mate," Draco said. He watched as his mother's eyes widened and she dropped her hand to her lap.

"You have?" She asked, holding in her excitement. Draco nodded dismally in response, and Narcissa shifted her whole body to face him.

"I take it that you're not happy, then?"

"It's not… I'm not unhappy. I don't think it would be possible to be unhappy. I'm just not sure that you'll be happy, or if _she'll_ be happy. I don't want to spend the rest of my life sad and alone!" Draco said, the pitch of his voice growing steadily with each word.

Narcissa reached forward, her hands brushing his hands and chest while breathing out in shushing sounds to calm him down.

Once he had regained some semblance of calm, Narcissa spoke once more, "Draco, please just tell me who she is. There's nothing that can be done if you've already chosen, and we can get through this together. Surely it's not as bad as you feel it is."

Draco looked up into his mother's eyes, filled with concern and grief for his situation.

"She's Hermione," he said, "My mate is Hermione Granger."

Narcissa's hands dropped back into her lap. Draco waited avidly for her expression to change, to show her disappointment, her anger. Instead, she only looked stunned with her mouth dropped open and her eyes staring at a point somewhere past his left ear.

"Mum?" Draco called gently.

Narcissa eventually deflated with a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she finally looked back at him, her eyes were still concerned.

"That's not going to be easy for you, is it dear?" She said, "You were never very nice to her at Hogwarts, and now, after the war…"

"Don't worry about me. What do _you_ think?" Draco asked.

Narcissa looked down at her hands, twisting in the skirts on her lap. Eventually, she sighed and gave the smallest of shrugs.

"It's a new world, dear. Prejudice needs to be forgotten, or the past will just repeat itself again."

Draco sat back, stunned at her words, "But if I end up with her, the pureblood Malfoy line will be finished."

"Would that be so bad? Miss Granger is a formidable witch, and from what I've heard many other muggle-borns are too. She might need a little bit of etiquette training, of course, but her blood bleeds just as red as ours. I've seen it," Narcissa said.

"You don't know any muggle-borns, Mum," Draco pointed out.

"Of course not, but do you really expect me to? I'm grew up in a whole other era. You know what happened to your aunt Andromeda because she married her muggle-born, but I won't let the same happen to you, because I _know_ you are following your very heart and soul."

Narcissa took his hands in hers and began to stroke the back of his hands. Sometimes it was hard to believe there was a time where his hands had been dwarfed by hers, instead of the other way around.

"Draco, Hermione Granger is a daring, successful young woman. Regardless of her family background, I already know why you picked her for a mate, even if you don't. She's the fire that will melt your icy walls - don't give me that look - and she'll be able to handle your moods," Narcissa looked away from him and to the family portrait that hung on the opposite wall. Draco had only been six when the painting had been commissioned, and the young, chubby faced boy was currently having his hair combed back by his ever patient mother. A younger, clearer eyed Lucius looked on with a soft fondness that settled something cold in Draco's gut.

"I don't know the girl well, but I see a bit of myself in her; perhaps we would've been kindred spirits if I'd grown up in a different time," His mother said, and finished softly, "Maybe her upbringing will temper you better than I ever could for your father."

"I'm going to have to tell him," Draco said as the dread began to set in once more.

Narcissa nodded, "Yes, you will."

"He's going to kill me."

Narcissa closed her eyes once more and sighed, "Go and tell him now. If he's in the mood for an argument then I will try to calm him down tonight."

Draco gave his mother a quick nod in response and stood to leave. Just as he began to turn, Narcissa grabbed his hand once more and gave it a soft squeeze. When he looked down, he saw only a mother's concern staring back.

Resolved to get it over with as quickly as possible, he left the blue sitting room in search of his Father. Lucius rarely wandered around the Manor anymore- if he wasn't in the master suite or in the new dining hall, he was almost always in his own office. Even with his determination to get it done, he still detoured to check that he wasn't in any of his other haunts before he came down the hall that ended in a luxuriant carved wooden double door.

Draco stood outside Lucius' personal office, hands pressed against the ornate wood door. He never wanted to be in this position, not only having to face his father face on and alone, but to do it firmly in his territory too.

"Come on, Draco. You can do this, you can do this," he quietly muttered to himself.

Draco knew that a Malfoy had never selected a mate that hadn't been from a pureblood family before, and though the rational side of his brain pointed out that he was one of the first to be consistently in close contact with magic folk of 'lesser' blood, the other part knew his father was hardly rational when enraged. While his mother might have accepted it with a mix of both resignation and hope, Draco hardly had high hopes to receive the same response from Lucius.

If only he hadn't been such a git who got off on the sight of Granger's flushed face maybe he wouldn't be in this mess. Well, the fact that he had enjoyed it a little bit too much should have clued him in, but Draco liked to think he was good at compartmentalising his thoughts during stressful situations (and not just wholly ignorant).

Resolved to enter the room and live what could potentially be the last moments of his life, he pushed the double doors open and made his entrance. Lucius was sitting behind his beautiful antique, rosewood desk. Draco could only see the top of his head and his forehead, the rest was hidden behind the spread of the Daily Prophet.

Lucius made no effort to acknowledge his presence, and Draco was left to begin by gathering what little courage he had.

"Father," he addressed, standing straight and resolute, "I wanted to inform you that I have found my mate. And she is, er, she is..."

His resolve flagged the moment Lucius looked up from his paper.

"Yes, son?"

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and proceeded to continue his recital of 'come on Draco, you're the man' inside his head. If this was it, he didn't want to see the end coming.

"MymateisHermioneGranger!" He rushed out.

Silence.

Draco squinted through his scrunched expression, confused.

He was not met with the sight of being held at wand point by an infuriated man. He didn't even sense the internal wrenching feeling he imagined might happen when you were viciously burned from the family tree.

No, Lucius had simply turned his attention back to his morning paper.

"Aren't you...going to kill me now? Banish me from the building? Disown me?" He asked, bewildered.

Lucius cast him a look filled with tired derision, "Son, I knew Miss Granger was your mate from the moment you stepped into the manor after your first year at Hogwarts. What kind of young boy comes home for Christmas ranting about schoolwork and a girl who beats him in every class for hours on end? You didn't spend more than a minute expressing your annoyance when Mr Potter made the quidditch team. I'm not particularly pleased with the match, and I never will be, but I've since had fifteen years in which to make my bad choices and get over it."

Draco stared at Lucius, unsure if the feeling building inside was a strangled sensation of relief or frustration at his father's response. Was that it? Did Draco's future no longer matter to the man, so buried in his regret from the war?

"Fine. That's... just fine," Draco said, and swept out of the room with a scowl on his face. The door slammed behind him, under the sway of his unconscious magic.

Ah, a Veela's rage.

He stormed through the halls that lead out to the gardens, moving faster than should have been possible without making any sound. The doors leading out flew open in his presence, and he continued on without looking back. Once he was far enough into the distance, Draco stopped. His fists were clenched tight, his breaths leaving his chest in large gushes. For a minute, Draco wasn't sure if he was going to scream, but the feeling faded.

The rage faded eventually, making him feel empty inside. He couldn't even remember what had set him off to begin with, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take of these unprovoked mood swings. Sinking down to the grass with his head in his hands, Draco prayed that this would be over sooner, rather than later.

Neither of his parents had brought up the topic again, each for a different reason. Each night he watched his Mother jitter with silent anticipation for more news, while his father actively ignored him – not something new or unusual. Draco was more than happy to sit in silence at dinner every night if that was the case. He was already becoming a growing bundle of anxiety with each passing day, trying to figure out where he was meant to go from here. If it had been back at Hogwarts, he had seen Hermione nearly every day and would have had plenty of opportunity to approach her (risking another broken nose, but it would have been worth it).

In theory, he knew that Hermione would have to come to him first. He had no idea where she lived or where she worked, and he could already imagine what queer looks and warnings he would get if he started asking around for these details. So each day he went to work and waited and tried not to look out the window for too long in the hopes she might walk by.

* * *

It was another two weeks after his revelation that the bell on the door rang and announced his own doom.

When Granger came strutting into the bookstore it was like his head had been filled with clotted cream. The hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stood on end in anticipation at the very sight of her. His thoughts became muggy and clouded, yet it filled him with a warmth that left his whole body thrumming. Her scent filled the immediate vicinity and it was nauseating in the best way possible.

Just the thought had him pinching his nose shut.

"What's wrong with you?" Granger asked as she placed a handwritten piece of paper onto the counter. Her hand stayed perched delicately upon in.

"Nothing," he said hastily, "Your coffee is making me nauseous, that's all."

"Really? You're starting to sound like a pregnant woman" She snorted in an entirely unappealing and unladylike way. Draco found it adorable.

Ugh!

Draco tried to glare at her, but he found that he no longer had it in him to do so. Without deigning to give her an answer, Draco extracted the parchment from under her palm and gave it a quick perusal. Maybe it was just him, but it seemed like Granger's monthly book requests were getting lengthier each time she provided it.

When he'd first began working at the store, he was put on the spot when Hermione Granger walked through the door with a list of books to loan. As far as he'd been concerned, you simply didn't _loan_ books from Flourish and Blotts, you bought them outright and that was that. What ensued was a terse, whispered argument where Granger repeatedly asked for him to fetch the proprietor so they could explain the situation. He'd eventually relented, only to be taken down a few pegs by Mrs Villadsen when he discovered the unique negotiation she had with the store.

For purposes of research and personal interests, Hermione Granger's patronage was fixed for a monthly fee and an open rental of books. As it was, Britain's wizarding world severely lacked in any extensive public libraries, with the largest historical collections carefully guarded by pureblood families (the Malfoys included). It wasn't all that shocking to find that Granger's ability to access private holdings were somewhat...stifled. So she'd made alternative arrangements for herself by touting the importance of her research and maybe just a little flaunting of her heroine title, and Flourish and Blotts _flourished_ under the ability to say they were 'Hermione Granger's Go To Bookstore'. If anything, the whole experience just reaffirmed that Mrs Villadsen was one savvy business lady.

Draco moved out from behind the counter and grabbed a trolley. Having passed through each row countless times, he took the quickest route to collect each of Granger's books and escape her beguiling scent. He prayed that for once in her life she stayed at the counter and just waited for him to finish his rounds. Unfortunately for him and his frayed nerves, she made it a habit to trot along behind him, curious cookie that she was. Draco could barely read the titles in front of him, his whole body taken up in a whirl of excitement and anticipation.

Draco's thumb brushed against the next book written on the list. Now _that_ couldn't be right. He lifted his head and turned around to face her, "Say Granger, we've got a problem here. You've written that you want the first edition of 'The Family Dynamics of Celtic Centaurs', but we only stock the _tenth edition._ Were you actually expecting to get your hands on an original? It's been out of print for at least 200 years."

She huffed and crossed her arms under her chest in a manner that was far too distracting.

"Call it wishful thinking. I didn't expect you to have it in stock, but seeing as everyone I've contacted about loaning out the first edition has rejected my requests and Hogwarts doesn't have a copy either, I figured it couldn't hurt to try," She said.

The room suddenly felt warmer and everything began to glow. Draco looked up wondering if the candles in the chandeliers had suddenly gotten brighter, but were burning just the same. The change in atmosphere was reflected by the warm, fuzzy feeling that was beginning to replace the general feeling of dread he perpetually carried with him.

Was this what hope felt like?

"I've got a copy," He said, before he could even register that he was even speaking.

"What?"

"I said I've got a copy. Of the first edition, that is. If it's very important for you to read the first edition," Draco said, stumbling over his sentences.

"Well, it _is_ very important because later editions faced heavy censorship and I'm not going to learn anything I don't already know-," Hermione paused, a little furrow between her brows. "Wait, you would be willing to let me borrow it?"

"The Manor has charms on it to prevent the removal of precious artefacts, but you're welcome to come and read it in our library. You'd also be able to have a look at some of the other books in our collection if you like. I'll even make you a cup of tea, and maybe you can tell me about what you've been researching so thoroughly," Draco said.

She looked sceptical, " _You'll_ make me tea?"

"I'm offended, I make a lovely cup of tea," Draco tried to look affronted.

Hermione turned her head away, visibly uncomfortable. Draco almost whimpered in sympathy, though he managed to hold it in.

He tried to catch his eyes as he said, "The room is boarded up. No one has been in there since the war ended. I'll even set up the floo so you can enter straight into the library."

"Why are you trying to be so nice to me, Malfoy?" She asked.

His heart stammered in his chest.

"I just think it's time to take a new turn and move forward in life. Bad things only happen if we don't try to change."

Hermione looked up at him, and he watched as her eyes flicked back and forth over his face. Was she looking for sincerity, or deception? Whatever it was she was looking for, she seemed to have found it while he was busy contemplating how pretty her warm brown eyes were in the light.

As she tried to smother her resigned sigh, she nodded her head. "Is Saturday morning alright? I think I'll need the whole day if you're library is as extensive as you're implying."

"Oh it is, it definitely is. I'm sure you'll love it, I—shit!" Draco exclaimed, having stubbed his toe on the trolley in his excitement. His shoulders stiffened and he gritted his teeth against the throbbing pain as he finished, "I'll just get the other books on your list then."

He stared ahead, shrouded in his embarrassment. He could hear Hermione trying to stifle her laughter behind him. Draco continued through the stacks, collecting her books and refusing to look back. When they finally returned to the front desk and he began to record each of the books in the ledger set aside specifically for her loans, her laughter and smirk had dissipated, only now he had to try to ignore the way she leaned up against the counter.

"Thank you, Malfoy. For letting me use your library," Hermione said.

"Don't thank me yet, you haven't even seen it yet," Draco answered.

She smiled at him quickly before turning to shrink all the books into her carry bag. Hermione was the only one Mrs Villadsen let touch her books with magic. Well, she was very good at it, Draco thought.

Hiking the bag straps over her shoulder, Hermione turned to leave.  
"I'll see you on Saturday, then?" She said.

"Yes, I'll make sure everything's set up. Just use 'Malfoy Manor's Library' and you'll be fine."

When she finally left, her hips swinging like a metronome, he tried to do his best to discreetly wipe his drool from the counter.

She'd agreed. Hermione was going to be coming to the Manor next Saturday, to peruse the library. It was the perfect opportunity to have her alone and try to explain the situation as carefully as he could.

Oh, Merlin… He had to prepare!

* * *

Wow, I never expected to get over 60 followers for this story – and just from the intro chapter! Thank you for your support, and I would love to hear your thoughts on the story.

I'm planning to have this story finish at around 6 chapters, so short and sweet!


	3. Chapter 3

"Draco, darling? What are you doing?" She asked as he entered and left the room for the fourth time, taking two more pillows with him each time. Wasn't it obvious, he had to make sure everything was perfect for Hermione! First impressions were the most important, after all. He needed to prove that he would be a good match. No, not just a good match, the perfect match!

He returned to his bedroom and deposited the two pillows onto a spare corner of the rug before he took a step back to survey the room with a critical eye. Yes, his efforts would doubtlessly impress Hermione. No doubt she would fall to her knees in enthusiasm and allow him to ceremoniously sweep her off her feet and have his way with her.

But perhaps it wouldn't hurt to test it out, he thought. He removed his shoes and socks, pulled his shirt over his head and waded through to the centre of his masterpiece. Once he was happy with his location, he plopped himself onto the ground and closed his eyes, happy to immerse himself in his environment.

So soft, so perfect.

"Draco!"

His mother stood at the door, covering her pursed lips with a delicately poised hand. At first, Draco only felt confusion. Why in Merlin's name was she laughing at him? This was a very important task, after all!

As Narcissa continued to giggle away behind her hand, the honeyed fog in his brain began to fade. His vision cleared, his posture straightened, and his delight rapidly turned to horror. One quick glance and he could already tell that he'd gone and gathered what was probably every single pillow in the entire Manor and deposited them on every visible surface in his room.

"Just look at you, nesting away!" Narcissa tittered, and from the way she was glancing out at the hall he could see she was tempted to call out to his father.

Draco moaned aloud and fell back into the pillowy mess, "This is ridiculous. I've gone mad, mother, completely and utterly mad. Just kill me now. Put me out of my misery."

She lifted her skirts and began a daring passage through the mountains of pillows to enter the room. Once or twice she nearly tripped, and Draco almost came out of his sulk to help her back out, but then falling into a massive pile of pillows was hardly the most dangerous place to land. When she finally made it to him, she perched herself on her knees on a purple embroidered piece and grabbed at his shoulder. With Draco's lacking will to live, it took Narcissa longer to drag his body towards her, but she managed it anyway. Draco's body slumped across the pillows in an awkward angle as she encouraged his head to rest upon her bosom.

Draco wished someone would just end him already.

"Oh darling, don't look so downtrodden! This is all perfectly normal, you know that," She said as she pet the hair off his forehead, "You used to love building pillow forts as a boy."

"Mum, men don't build... _pillow forts,_ " He tried not to pout. He really, _really_ did.

"You can't help your instincts, Draco. If nesting happens to be among them then all it says is that you'll make a brilliant, caring father and husband."

Draco felt very sour all of a sudden, and didn't try to suppress his next comment, "Guess Father wasn't the nesting type then."

He felt Narcissa sigh, but she continued to comb her fingers through his hair and stroke his shoulder, "No, he wasn't, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you or me. He does, very dearly. He's just…"

"'Misguided', I know," Draco finished with a roll of his eyes.

"Why don't you tell me what put in such a state to begin with?" Narcissa said, changing the topic with practiced ease.

"I asked Hermione to the Manor this weekend," Draco said, "And she said yes."

Draco was hurled away from his Mother's comfort so quickly he might have received whiplash if his final destination wasn't another mountain of pillows. He lifted himself out before he was smothered to death and turned to scowl at Narcissa.

"Oh! This is just perfect! I'll have tea prepared. It will have to be at least 5 courses, and we can discuss the situation in detail and-"

"Mum!" Draco broke in hastily, "I haven't told her yet. It's a bit of a big deal to drop all that on her at once isn't it?"

Narcissa paused in her excitement, seemed to think about it, and then nodded in cautious agreement.

"I asked her if she would like to use the resources in our library. She's always researching something or other. I thought I might be able to, get to know her a bit. Become her friend?" Draco said.

"You better hide your empire of pillows then, if you don't want to be too obvious with your intent," Narcissa laughed.

"I think you're probably right about that one," Draco sniffed. He rummaged through his pocket in search of his wand, and pulled it out to start the process of levitating the plethora of pillows back to their original locations. "You won't tell Father about this, will you?"

"Your secret pillow fetish is safe with me, darling."

"Mother!"

Narcissa picked out one of the smaller pillows floating past her and threw it at him, "I don't think you should dilly dally any more than you have to. If you tell her now, she'll have more time to process it."

"I've got a plan. Now leave me to it," Draco said with a wave of his hand.

Narcissa laughed and shook her head at him. Still, she stood to leave and gave a final stroke of his head, "Good luck with it, then."

When she had left, Draco fell back once more. Only this time he wasn't met with soft pillows, but the hardwood floor. Letting out a pained groan, he rolled over to stand. Maybe he should have kept all the pillows for a little while longer after all.

...

Time leading up to Saturday felt the same as it did when Draco was a child waiting for Christmas – it seemed to simultaneously be moving rapidly and crawling all at once.

When the day finally arrived, Draco paced back and forth in front of the library's fireplace, taking glances at the grandfather clock beside it far too frequently than he'd like to admit. Hermione was five minutes late. Draco couldn't say for sure, but it seemed like it would be totally out of character for Hermione to be late to anything.

What he based this assumption on, he wasn't sure, but he was sticking with it nonetheless.

At ten past, the floo lit up with a _fwoosh_ and spat out a rather windswept looking Hermione Granger. Instead of looking around or even acknowledging his presence, she began to pat down her clothes and hair in an attempt to make herself more presentable. Draco didn't think any amount of patting could help her now.

"Granger," Draco started. She jumped and spun to look at him.

"Oh! I didn't see you there," She said, "Sorry I'm late, I stayed late at the office last night and I might have overslept a bit."

"Its fine," Draco finished. They stood staring at each other silently until the point that it was starting to feel a little bit awkward. Draco wasn't sure what he was meant to say, and Hermione just looked like she was growing more uncomfortable with his intense staring.

"Er, so this is, the library?" Hermione asked. She tried to glance at as much of the room as she could without turning her head.

"Yes," Draco answered.

"You can get set up at any of the desks, and I'll get that cup of tea that I promised you," He waved his hand around the room without really pointing at anything. Hermione furrowed her brow at him, but went to set her bag down by the writing desk nearest the fireplace.

Draco nodded at himself when she sat down, and turned to go and make the tea before he self-combusted.

"Um, Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Could you tell me where I could find the book? I'd like to start my reading as soon as possible, it's quite a hefty tome from what I've heard."

"Oh, I'll just go grab it for you now," Draco went down one of the aisles, searching for the book. It felt oddly familiar to working at the bookstore, and he had to thank his Father for keeping the books meticulously ordered. If he had been in control, there would have been no order to how the books were kept.

Under the magical creatures section, Draco found the aging book. It was bound in a faded blue material, the sides brighter than the sun-bleached spine. There was no dust to cover it, because all the books had a simple repulsion charm placed on them.

He took the book from its spot and carried it back to Hermione. Draco dropped the book onto her desk with a thud, and looked over at her, "Now how about that tea?"

"You're very insistent about it, so I don't think I can say no," She said absently, her attention taken up by the sight of the book. Her eyes practically glowed with a greediness for knowledge.

Draco smirked, "I have a lot to prove."

Draco left Hermione alone in the library, with the door leading to the corridor open. All things considered, their first ten minutes of interaction had gone along fairly seamlessly. He walked to the kitchens without incidence, seeing neither his mother nor father in his journey. They were probably having morning tea outside, he thought.

He flicked his wand at the kettle on the stove, taking it to the sink to fill it with water, then back to the stove to heat. He went through all the familiar motions of brewing the tea for both of them, and then poured it into two of the nicest cups he could find. Once he had prepared them to his satisfaction, he returned to Hermione's side with the cups floating in tow.

The two cups gently settled on the desk. Hermione glanced up from where her finger had been following lines of text, and took the offered tea. Cradled between her hands, she lifted the warm cup to her lips and took a slight sip.

"I must concede," she said, "This truly is a lovely cup of tea. The perfect temperature, even."

He tried not to outwardly preen at the compliment, masking it with a haughty look and an 'I told you so'. He used his wand to summon a chair to the other side of the desk, and sat down.

"So what are you researching?" He asked.

"I thought it would be obvious. Centaur relations," She said as she spread the old book out, careful to keep her teacup at some distance to avoid a tragic accident.

"So this is just a new avenue to expand your knowledge?"

"Well, no," Hermione conceded, "I'm sure you know that any attempt at negotiations with centaurs are almost always tense, if not counter-productive. Lately, there have been more confrontations ending in minor to serious injuries in known Centaur home ranges, and while I would prefer if wizards would just leave well enough alone and let them be, that's unlikely to happen."

Even with her nose buried in a book she seemed to be able to carry on an intelligent conversation in a way most people couldn't when they devoted their entire attention to it. Draco found this to be far more attractive than he expected, but that seemed to be happening a lot lately.

"I'm hoping that my research will help create a method in which wizards can approach Centaur herds without causing offense, so that there can be open negotiations or at least a diminished risk of injury for both parties involved."

"I can see how that would be beneficial to the Ministry," Draco replied, leaning forward to get a closer look at the freckles on her nose.

"For the Ministry yes, but also for travellers. Wizards seem to have an uncanny ability of picking the worst possible destinations for their camping trips when it comes to magical creature relations," She tucked one of her many curls behind her ear and looked up at him for a second.

"I'm surprised you're wanting to hear all this," Hermione said. She took a sip of her tea during her pause.

"You might not remember, but I was still second to you at school. I have a few brain cells that liked to be stretched on occasion," Draco said with a small smile. His heart fluttered when he saw her smile back.

The comfortable silence between them was broken by the soft wrap of knuckles against a wooden door, and both Hermione and Draco turned in the direction of the sound. There, Narcissa Malfoy stood waiting, her neck craned to peek into the room. When she deemed the coast was clear, she opened the door fully.

Narcissa bustled through the doors, draped in pale blues and a smile that lit up her face. "Miss Granger, how lovely to see you."

"Oh, um, it's lovely to see you as well, Mrs Malfoy," Granger answered, looking suitably bewildered.

"Mother, Granger is here to put our extensive library to good use."

"And how are you enjoying our library? Has anything taken your fancy yet?" Narcissa asked.

"Actually, Granger is researching the family dynamics of Celtic centaurs," Draco answered.

Hermione visibly perked up at the idea of discussing her research once more, and she continued on from Draco's explanation, "I believe that a greater understanding of the historic practices and relationship patterns of centaurs would benefit greatly with our current negotiations with them. You see, the Celtic language and culture spread throughout much of Europe, and I believe there was far less secularism between groups then n-"

"Yes dear, that's sound's very fascinating," Narcissa smiled at her. Hermione stopped in her tracks and began to flush across her cheeks and neck. Draco watched avidly as she hid her embarrassment behind her tea cup.

"I get a little carried away sometimes," Hermione mumbled into her cup. He wondered if she felt particularly shunted after the attention she had received from him only minutes before.

"Draco, could I have a quick word with you in private?" Narcissa asked, pointing away to the door.

"Of course, Mother."

Once they left the library, Draco gently closes the door over. He turned to look at his mother and asked, "Everything alright?"

"Yes, dear. I was just wondering how you were coping. I know it can be rather, frustrating being in close vicinity with your un-bonded mate," She said, clasping her hands together.

Draco thought about the way the sun beams from the windows cast a warm gold halo around the frizz of her hair, or the way that her warm skin would contrast so well against his porcelain hand. Or the way that her dark eyelashes brushed her cheeks every time she blinked.

While he was captivated, he felt completely at peace with it too. So he shrugged and replied, "It's fine, so far. I'm just trying to get to know her first."

Narcissa gave him a frank look, then glanced at the door behind his back, "You'll need to tell her eventually, you know that."

"Of course I do, but dropping it now when we've barely talked to each other in years would be the worst possible choice to make," He said sarcastically, "Can you imagine how that would go? Oh hey Hermione, I forgot to mention before I invited you here that I'm actually a Veela. Since I know you're all about magical creature rights and all that, I thought you'd be all for becoming my life long bonded mate without much fuss."

"I'm just worried you'll avoid it for as long as possible, and prolong your suffering," She said, and reached out to grab his hands, "I know what you're like."

A coward, Draco thought. Too gutless to even improve his own wellbeing. No. Draco refused to do that this time, not for this. But this wasn't something he could jump into, he had to take a level of care that Narcissa wasn't letting him take.

"I'll prolong it for as long as I have to," Draco said. "Please Mother, just leave me be and let me do what I have to do, as I see fit."

"The sooner she finds out she's your mate, the better off you'll be. Both of you," Narcissa pushed.

"Malfoy, what is she talking about?"

Draco spun around to see Hermione standing at the open doors of the library. Her hands were balling into fists at her side, her spine straightened. Her warm brown eyes suddenly looked cold as they stared directly into his very soul.

Fear set in, and before his very eyes flashed a future filled with misery, loneliness and no sex. Granger's expression was getting darker the longer he stayed silent.

"Hermione, I… I didn't want to drop this on you all at once. I wanted to ease you into the idea," He tried to reason, but she had already turned around to leave.

"You needn't drop anything on me at all! Here I was thinking that you really did just want to mend bridges or, or you were actually interested in my research!" She huffed. She started to stuff her utensils back into her bag, and closed the book with more force than necessary.

Draco wanted to reach out and grab her arm to stop her from leaving, but he wasn't sure what would happen if he did.

"Please, Hermione," He pleased, "I thought this would make you happy. Forget what you heard what my Mother say. None of that matters, I really do want to get to know you better."

"Really? You want to get to know _me_ better? Can you honestly tell me that is I wasn't your… your 'Veela Mate' you would be doing this?" She asked, her hands pressed deep against her hips.

He couldn't answer that question. He knew that she was right, and that if it wasn't for blasted biology they would never have become more than passing acquaintances. Just the book store boy and the girl with the undying thirst for knowledge.

She sighed and turned to pick up her bag, "That's what I thought. Thank you for letting me use your library, but I won't be coming back."

She grabbed the floo powder and was gone before Draco could even call out her name. He fell to his knees in front of the fire place, his hands outstretched like claws. So this is what it felt like to have his heart torn out before he even had the chance to give it to her.

"Draco, I'm so sorry," Narcissa whispered. He felt her arms surround him and stroke through his hair and wipe away the tears he didn't realise were there, but something about the tone of her voice felt insincere.

"You can fix this, love. I know you can."

He could fix this, but he wished he didn't have to. Sometimes, Draco didn't think he would ever understand the choices and actions his Mother made when it came to his life.

...

The world felt grey and broken. At work, Draco had to play off his sniffles as hay fever, even though his fragile heart felt like it had started to crumble. Hermione didn't turn up at the bookstore, which wasn't unusual but rationality didn't make him feel any better.

Each day faded into the next, but Draco continued to go through the motions of his day to day life robotically. By the middle of the week, Draco was truly exhausted. He spent every spare moment he wasn't helping a customer with his eyes closed, trying to catch a spare second of rest. When the post-lunchtime lull hit and the rush of customers trickled down, Draco dropped his face to the counter with a whimper. If any remaining customer turned to look and wonder what was wrong with him, he couldn't tell. It's not like he had much of a reputation to lose anymore.

The bell above the door jingled as another customer entered the store. He could hear the clack-clack of their heels upon the hardwood floor, but Draco's lack of will to live meant that even his desire to keep his job could not give him the energy to lift his head.

"I'm very annoyed with you right now," A feminine voice called out, and for a split second Draco's mood soared until he realised that the heavy, floral perfume that surrounded the woman did not smell anything like Hermione. That, and the voice was just a touch too snobby to be her.

He tilted his head up an inch to look in the direction of the door, but his vision was blocked by a bodice made of expensive looking silk that had probably been hand embroidered by house elves. His eyes followed up her body until he was greeted with the sight of slick, black hair and a slightly puggish nose.

"Oh. It's you." Draco said. His face turned back so his nose was squished into the wood once more.

"So," Pansy snipped, "Not only do you completely forget our Wednesday lunch together, but you're not even happy to see me. Why am I friends with you again?"

Draco groaned heavily and lifted his body from his slumped position of defeat. "I'm sorry, Pans. I just haven't been feeling great this last week. It completely slipped my mind that today was Wednesday."

Pansy rolled her eyes. She turned around so she could perch herself on the front desk, and gave him a frank look, "You're always in a mood Draco, but this is different. What's happened?"

"I had a… 'date' on the weekend, but it turned into a complete and utter disaster," Draco answered miserably.

Pansy swatted him over the head, causing Draco to squawk in indignation. "You go on a date with a girl without consulting me first? Of course it was a disaster! Do you remember our first date? You took me to the quidditch pitch, Draco. Quidditch. Where did you take this one?"

"The library in the Manor," Draco mumbled.

"The library!" Pansy shouted, "What is she, some old biddy with 50 kneazles? Don't treat a girl like she's Hermione Granger."

"Actually…"

"No," Pansy groaned, "You asked _Granger_ out on a date? What is wrong with you! Well, now I know why it was such a disaster, you two used to fight like cats and dogs back in school, all our blood prejudice aside. What in Merlin's name made you want to date her?"

Well, probably his biological imperative that drove him to want to kiss and cuddle and have many, many little curly haired babies with her. Not that Draco was going to tell Pansy that. Instead, Draco muttered something out about her being rather pretty and very smart.

"There are plenty of pretty and smart girls out there. You didn't need to pick that one," Pansy said with a frown. This did not make Draco feel any better, for more reasons than the obvious one.

"No, I didn't. But it felt right in the moment and I just…went for it," He replied, thinking back on how she looked in the bookshop a little more than a week ago now. He'd probably never see that again now.

In his daydreaming state, he didn't notice Pansy's watchful eyes analysing him.

"You really like her, don't you?" Draco nodded sadly in response.

Pansy huffed out a breath and brushed her lustrous black hair back from her face. A look of resigned determination came over her, "Well then, I'm just going to have to help you get her back. Not that you ever had her to begin with… Whatever."

Clapping her hands together, Pansy jumped off the counter and her feet landed with another loud clack on the ground, "Right then. Let's get started, shall we?"

"Pans, I'm at work," Draco said.

"Work, schmurk. Nothing's more important than love. Except maybe money," Pansy grinned.

Draco wasn't sure if he could trust Pansy with anything as serious as his entire future happiness, but at this point he had no other hopes of finding his way back to Hermione's good side.

"Fine, what do you have in mind?"

* * *

Thank you for all your support so far! Your comments always make me smile and get me writing.


End file.
